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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26610868">an elaboration upon the stanzas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunDiiVith/pseuds/LunDiiVith'>LunDiiVith</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>...Called The Song of Pelinal, Gen, Like A Songfic Except For An In-Game Lorebook, M/M, emetophobia cw, gore cw, have fun, i'll update with more relationship tags when i do the other half of the Song, pretty pelinal/huna heavy lol, sorry i like them &lt;3, the 2nd half is a lot more fucked up. sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:01:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26610868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunDiiVith/pseuds/LunDiiVith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>And PELIN-EL which is the Star-Made Knight looked at her, for he knew those who left had left in disgust, to vomit at his callous display (that was not a display but an arrival and a promise), and he did not believe her weak (but none else among them did, for she could plead with reality itself, and PELIN-EL was none but another slave of its ticking and as aware of it as any other). And Perrif had pinched her nose, but she had a steely look in her gaze, for she had seen the promise given and knew the consequences of appealing to the love of the inhuman.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>And PELIN-EL which is the Star-Made Knight was not Star-Made when he said, “I’d appreciate a bath.”</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> or; basically, i took pieces of the Song of Pelinal and wrote little scenes based on them, because unfortunately i care a lot about Pelinal Whitestrake, despite all the murder and stuff. i hope you enjoy!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alessia &amp; Pelinal Whitestrake, Huna/Pelinal Whitestrake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>an elaboration upon the stanzas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>That he took the name "Pelinal" was passing strange, no matter his later sobriquets, which were many. That was an Elvish name, and Pelinal was a scourge on that race, and not much given to irony.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“Well, I need a name,” the other man laughed, joyous; and the White-Strake felt <em>something </em>at his smile, something he couldn’t recognize, not unlike one of the songs he so disdained being sung in his heart of hearts. He shook his head wordless, breathless and wiped another tear from Huna’s face with his thumb as he kept talking. “You’ve really shed all of them?”</p><p>Sunbeams streamed through the sky, blue sky and rare clouds matching the Knight’s attire. “People call me things,” and the White-Strake turned his head just so, as if to say, maybe, that he didn’t know what to make of those names. None registered within him. There was nothing to him yet but the blood he was soaked in, and gore did not give easy baptism.</p><p>“Then I’ll call you Pelin-Al,” Huna decided, with the small smile the White-Strake would get to know so well in the coming years, “because — well, I think it’s obvious.” And the White-Strake knew then, because it sung to him like a great bell’s ringing, that it was how he’d want to be known from there-on.</p><p>And it would have scared him how fast he’d given away his heart, but he hadn’t known before this that he could even <em>have </em>one. And anyway, it didn’t feel as if he’d given it away. Instead, it felt like Huna had placed a heart in the hollow of his chest, had reached into the cage of his ribs and left a bird as ruby-red as the diamond embedded above them. And the White-Strake did not mind the language from which his name came, for it stopped being violent when shaped by the clumsy lips of his friend.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>[and Pelinal] came to Perrif's camp of rebels holding a sword and mace, both encrusted with the smashed viscera of elven faces[...], which were the markings of the Ayleidoon, stuck to the redness that hung from his weapons...</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>As the advisors and the generals and the soldiers scurried away from the tent, the queen looked back at PELIN-EL which is the Star-Made Knight and she winced at the maggots running through the oldest of the gore, through his boots, from the rampage in the jungle, and she asked him, “...do you want to wash all that off?”</p><p>And PELIN-EL which is the Star-Made Knight looked at her, for he knew those who left had left in disgust, to vomit at his callous display (that was not a display but an arrival and a promise), and he did not believe her weak (but none else among them did, for she could plead with reality itself, and PELIN-EL was none but another slave of its ticking and as aware of it as any other). And Perrif had pinched her nose, but she had a steely look in her gaze, for she had seen the promise given and knew the consequences of appealing to the love of the inhuman.</p><p>And PELIN-EL which is the Star-Made Knight was not Star-Made when he said, “I’d appreciate a bath.”</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Pelinal called out Haromir of Copper and Tea into a duel at the Tor, and ate his neck-veins while screaming praise to Reman, a name that no one knew yet. Gordhaur the Shaper's head was smashed upon the goat-faced altar of Ninendava, and in his wisdom Pelinal said a small plague spell to keep that evil from reforming by welkynd-magic.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“Beloved?”</p><p><em>Restlessly asleep again</em>, thought Huna, hearing no reply. It was dark and so he could not see, but he felt Pelinal twist and turn in his arms and around him. He touched gently his forehead, feeling it burn and drip with sweat, and Huna kissed it gently, for he cared for the man before him. “Pelinal, my love, wake up,” he whispered.</p><p>And there was something to be said about the survivors of the Ayleids’ unjust rule, (perhaps they carried it in their hearts), but every god and spirit hurried to change to suit their every whim, and they could shape the land with their will and heart’s desire. And Pelinal woke up in Huna’s arms in the tent that they shared near the battlefield that was his birthplace, and he buried his head in his home, that is to say hid it against his great love’s body, and he breathed hard and fast until he was calm.</p><p>“I kept you up.” Pelinal could not say he was sorry, for the closest thing he knew was regret, but nothing as bitter had a space here in the sticky warmth of their night. “I told you—”</p><p>“—to wake you up when you get like this, beloved, I know,” replied Huna soothingly. The only noise outside of their hushed voices were the insects outside, buzzing and mating and eating each other in abandon, all caparaces looking to fulfill their life’s purpose; and it was one of those nights where Pelinal knew too much. “Reman again?”</p><p>Pelinal made a noise of affirmation and held tighter against Huna, feeling his heart beat like a small animal’s. Could a tiger love a rabbit, could a child love a dandelion? “It’s always Reman. I do not know what happens with the third one, that makes them so — impossible.” He fears the answer will be too satisfactory to Aka and give them his blood’s blessing, to commit great violence across time and not just battered, sharp-toothed space. A father playing favorites. “I’m scaring you again.” And bitterness and shame filled his face, and Pelinal knew regret properly for the air went cold around him.</p><p>But it was just Huna, sighing and then lifting their blanket into the air. He wrapped it tightly around their shoulders and sat up, leaving a space between their chests in the walls of their impenetrable fortress for the warm air to be vented, and he said, “Well, since we’re both awake, can you tell me about your magic until I fall asleep on you again?”</p><p>And though most of the stars were not visible in the darkness of their tent, Pelinal to Huna was fixed in the firmament when he shifted on the creaking bed and laid his busy head on his chest and said, “Sure.”</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>...he stood with white hair gone brown with elfblood at the Bridge of Heldon, where Perrif's falconers had sent for the Nords, and they, looking at him, said that Shor had returned, but he spat at their feet for profaning that name.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>They wouldn’t have been here without him-them and his-their corpse floated amongst the stars that had forged him. And the tired, tired being, whose weight was none but that of death looked at Vaniri with sunken cheeks and spat something coppery red and white at his feet, and Vaniri who was the leader of a good many men nearly jumped, for he did not expect his recognition to be met with anything but joy.</p><p>The wind was the movement of the thin air at the Bridge. There was something empty in those eyes, stained red with elfblood like rubies. His ribcage was a prison, hung above the hollow of his stomach and was it not fitting Death itself was a skeleton?</p><p>Vaniri and his children and his children’s children would treasure the lone tooth of an ada that his wisdom and quick eye had earned him until it had been polished away to nothingness, and then it had been lost and it had returned to where its iron once came from, in the distant confines of the stars.</p><p>A vestige is not the same as the whole; you would not say a finger is part of you if it’s cut off. An emperor may take a dead man’s child as a tool of his will, but only a dragon would do the same to his own. Disowning divinity is disowning yourself. Is one who is alive to bring death equal to one who is dead to bring life? Fucking <em>no</em>, obviously, absolutely. So why—?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>unsure of when i'll post the second half, since i don't have it fully written yet and i've got two other projects on my brain, but i'm procastrinating on one so... shrugs. might as well</p><p>also! i edited out a piece of the quote on volume two referring to the ayleids' beads and what not because like... im white but i dont know if mickey kink was on his best shrooms exactly when he tried to code a culture that kept slaves and sacrificed them to daedra as vaguely indigenous? (im aware some cultures indigenous to the americas kept slaves but i doubt he had those intentions personally). but theres a lot of shitty coding and a lot of shitty colonialism apologia going on in elder scrolls in general. (like goblins in summerset and what not, there was one quest in ESO that made me wince...) i think there should either be a mass lore rewrite here personally or we should get some proper anticolonialist narratives. yeah thats all lol. uhm. though if an indigenous person reads this and thinks it'd be better for me to keep the quote in full i'll edit this bc im white and obviously they have lived experience and stuff lol. okay yeah NOW that's all</p><p>follow me on <a href="https://lundiivith.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> or <a href="https://twitter.com/lundiivith">twitter</a> if you want, i post about pelinal whitestrake sometimes there, especially when ive been rewatching the animated opera LOL</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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